Inside the sun I hide my hands
and burrow down my face
Close eyed holiday mind
has died to thought, to care
to want
but to shuffle slowly always
edging toward the sun
When motion is removed
from thought, we glide,
we edge,
close to heat, to light
to sun.
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this is about the place under your watch that never sees the sun
kind ones' faces
About Me
- Amy McPherson
- Writing is the space that you need to make sense of things. Like gaps between words...not necessary but very helpful.
i think me sorta like that at the moment. doing stuff and all i'm doing is burning myself, shooting myself in the foot. and even when ya try to do right you still burning ya self lol. well my friend that's what ya words make me feel. I've luv reading ya stuff.
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its my poetry page. cya